


had we but world enough and time

by orphan_account



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Infinite Universes AU, M/M, Merpeople AU, Space AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3725302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(we would pass our long love's day)</p>
<p>Some souls are destined to spend every life fitting together</p>
            </blockquote>





	had we but world enough and time

**the first world**

It doesn’t last and Kōki never expected it to. They had met on the steps and somehow, even through the fear of sharp objects and recklessness, over the next couple of years Seijūrō had wormed his way into Kōki’s heart as if that was his only place. It was the type of love Kōki had only read and fantasised about, only better. Under Seijūrō’s influence, he felt braver. Under Kōki’s influence, Seijūrō softened.

But Kōki knew what he wanted to say when Seijūrō turned to him with a serious look on his face. He’d felt it over the past week since the fourth anniversary of their relationship. “You’re breaking up with me,” he says before Seijūrō could say anything.

Seijūrō freezes, before slowly nodding. “Kōki—”

“It’s fine,” Kōki interrupts, though it isn’t.

“No,” Seijūrō says firmly. “It’s not fine. I don’t want to think that I’ll have to wake up without you beside me, but my father is making me choose.”

“Between me and the company.”

Seijūrō nods. Kōki moves his hand away when Seijūrō tries to hold it. “I’ve already given up so much for that company, Kōki. I can’t let it go to waste. That company is the sole reason I exist.”

Kōki doesn’t argue. It wouldn’t change anything regardless. “First loves aren’t supposed to last,” he says, smiling as cheerfully as he can manage. He feels numb, but he supposes it’s better than the agony it’s masking.

“That’s not fair,” Seijūrō says. “You’re not my first love.”

“I was saying it for myself, Seijūrō.”

Seijūrō nods, looking down and covering his face with his hands as Kōki walks away.

He waits until he’s round the corner before breaking apart himself.

-

-

**before us lie deserts of vast eternity**

**the second world**

Fukuda confesses right before he leaves.

And Kōki reels. He doesn’t know what to say as Fukuda breaks down in front of him, begging him not to go. He does what he can, hurriedly lighting incense which was supposed to cure him of the strange tremors he’d been afflicted with since he’d been a child (and never worked, but he refused to tell the healers lest they say that he could only be cured in the peat bog). “I…” he stammers almost uncontrollably and Fukuda just looks at him. “I have to.”

“ _Why_? There are so many of the others that could go. Stay _here_.” His arms are around Kōki’s waist, and he kisses Kōki’s mouth. Although it feels more of a courtesy, Kōki kisses back.

It doesn’t feel like the dreams he’d been having since he’d turned fourteen and found that he, like twenty others within the village, were prophetic. He’d told people the majority of his dreams, in the hope that they could decipher them together, but had never mentioned the dreams he’d had of the head prophet.

Akashi Seijūrō was supposed to remain unwed and unattached his entire life, after all, but Kōki couldn’t help feeling like their souls had a tangible connection. He feels that still.

Fukuda pulls away, his hands still grasping Kōki’s. “Please stay,” he says.

Kōki shakes his head.

-

As the only other prophet going to fight for an expansion of their lands, he has to remain close to Akashi. It’s three weeks into the expedition, and they’ve set up camp in the desert and are silently preparing to fight by meditating in the prophets’ tent. Kōki shifts his weight and cracks open one eye to find Akashi staring at him.

“Furihata-san,” he starts, and Kōki vibrates from how Akashi saying his name makes him feel. “Did you know that there are infinite universes?”

Kōki nods slowly.

“And that in some cases, two souls will be inexplicably linked throughout each?”

“But it’s rare.”

“Yes.” Seijūrō stares at him. His robes are almost falling off his shoulders and Kōki automatically reaches to straighten them, halting when Seijūrō lowers his eyelids and his lips part. “Take them off,” he commands.

Kōki isn’t allowed to defy a superior. He swallows, his breathing hitches, and he obeys.

-

The next day he is tired and entirely sated, having woken to Seijūrō completely bare beside him running his fingers through Kōki’s hair. “Have we…?” Kōki bites his lip and Seijūrō’s expression darkens as he stares in what seems like raptures. “Have we lost our gift now?”

“Yes,” he replies. He doesn’t seem distraught.

It would have been better had they waited another day, as dreams would have told them the outcome of the battle: no survivors.

-

-

**i always hear time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near**

**the third world**

The thief is finally caught, six months after the first incident, and Kōki is called to the throne room from a warm bed to give his verdict. It’s the worst, most painful part of his job. Men and women are brought to him, he is to decide if they should live or die.

The thief looks like more of a king than he does.

It’s the way he carries himself, keeps his head up proudly even when he is chained and held in place by two members of the guard. It’s the confidence in his gaze, his unusual beauty. Kōki meets his eyes, one red, one golden, and his body heats up. He scans over the thief, takes in the ragged clothes and the tears which reveal hints of pale skin and hard muscles, and swallows. He doesn’t know if it’s a trick of his beauty or not, but he almost seems familiar.

“Sire,” he says, inclining his head though he seems as unwilling as Kōki to look away.

Even kings and queens have been put to death for being homosexual. Kōki _himself_ has put nobles to death for being caught in the act, and it’s pure irony that he is having visions of himself and that man together.

“You are sure?” he asks the guards. They bring out a string of pearls from the man’s pockets.

Kōki wishes the thief had been born a woman.

“My younger brother is ill,” the thief says. He seems to forget his pride. Kōki refuses to listen.

“Execute him,” he says hoarsely. He turns away as quickly as he can, but not before the mask slips completely and the thief reveals absolute fear. Kōki feels the guilt and pain, and regrets his decision for the rest of his life.

-

-

**we cannot make our sun stand still**

**the fourth world**

Furihata Kōki is sixteen when he enters an advanced marine biology course, and seventeen when he encounters Akashi Seijūrō during a placement at a rare breed aquarium. It hurts to see these beautiful animals trapped behind glass, but he makes himself feel better by listening to excuses about research and studying the occupants.

Akashi is one of two merpeople at the centre, though Kōki suspects he has never met the other, a female, and won’t unless they are used for breeding purposes once she is old enough. At the current moment, his only companion is a hammerhead shark.

The first sight he has, he is flitting about the tank with the hammerhead swimming after him in some convoluted game of tag and Kōki can’t stop staring. All merpeople are beautiful, but Akashi is the pride and joy of the aquarium; a veiled angelfish type whilst the female is the more common mackerel type. Akashi’s fins are the most gossamer fins he’s ever seen, and his scales stretch all the way to his collarbones, shimmering between red and gold depending on the light. When he meets Kōki’s eyes he tilts his head and watches him with a confident smirk as if Kōki is the one under observation.

Kōki feels drawn towards him, like magnetism between their spirits, and starts to look for the steps that would bring him to the top of the aquarium.

“Be careful with that one.”

One of the other workers, Kōki vaguely remembered that she’d introduced herself as Riko, taps his shoulder. “Huh?”

“He’s part siren. Hasn’t drowned anyone yet but I suppose it’s only a matter of time.”

Kōki says nothing out loud, but criticises Riko silently. No merperson or siren was pure any more, and all the crossbreeding had done was make merpeople more alluring and sirens able to survive nearer tropical waters.

Akashi just continues staring at him. His eyes have the same effect as his scales, and Kōki is mesmerised.

-

Akashi is either stalking him as prey or particularly interested, because whenever Kōki is on duty during the night and the hammerhead has drifted off to sleep, he follows Kōki the best he can whilst he cleans up and does routine checks. After three nights of this and Kōki increasingly more irritated, he stalks up the stairs to the top of the aquarium, locks the door behind him and sits beside the open top within the small observation deck. The rest of the aquarium, covered in glass and UV lights, stretches in front of him. It doesn’t feel like the sea, and he can’t help imagining how Akashi feels about his situation.

He emerges in front of him and pushes his red hair back. The scales no longer in the water soften to skin with golden undertones; a natural reaction to absorb more UV rays, Kōki thinks automatically. He waits a few seconds as his gills shut and he switches to breathing. If he didn’t look beneath the water to see the ethereal beauty of his fins, the only betrayal to his heritage would be the small scatter of scales not quite softened, like iridescent beauty marks over his right clavicle.

Kōki bites his lip as Akashi braces himself against the concrete and pushes himself almost completely out of the water. The reaction of his scales stops low on his hips, but it reveals enough of his body that Kōki can’t decide if the warmth he feels is due to being attracted to him or disgusted. “Took you long enough,” he says. He is only a few centimetres from Kōki and his gaze is so heavy and familiar in a way that Kōki can’t comprehend.

“I-is there something I can get you?” Kōki breathes a sigh of relief when he backs away and rests his head on his arms. His tail emerges behind him before dipping into the water again.

“You’re a research scientist, aren’t you? Better to ask me questions than the dolphins.”

“I don’t have any questions.”

He holds out slightly webbed hand. “It’s a human greeting, isn’t it?” he asks when Kōki stares at it, wondering if he made a mistake.

Kōki holds onto the bar behind him and tentatively takes his hand, readying to kick if he tries to pull him down. Nothing happens. Akashi squeezes it, his own hand surprisingly warm. “I’m sure it will be a pleasure doing business with you,” he says pleasantly. Kōki nods.

“Uh… sure.” His face burns at the look Akashi gives him before he disappears under the water.

-

Kōki blames Akashi’s siren blood for how drawn he is, and how he can spend hours listening to him talk about his culture. He veers away from personal questions, but from a purely scientific point of view he was the best resource Kōki could have.

“I’ve learnt more from you than I have in a year of my degree,” he says once Akashi has finished talking about a coming-of-age ceremony, riveted by the descriptions.

Akashi flicks his fins to the side. “The majority of us are willing to talk. Scientists seem to have forgotten that approach.”

Kōki chews on his thumbnail and watches as Akashi dips under the water.

-

The worst is when the aquarium is open to the public, and adults and children alike are tapping on the glass. The vibrations that surge through the water irritate Akashi by his expression, and the hammerhead swims in circles, every now and then brushing up against Akashi as if it were a cat or a dog, and waits until Akashi scratches its dorsal fin before resuming anxious pacing. Akashi disappears from view after a while, and once Kōki is on his break he goes to the observation deck to see him half-lying on the concrete, his tail smacking the water behind him.

“Akashi-san?” he asks. Akashi looks at him and slinks back into the water.

“I suppose I am to give the customers a show?”

“No! I didn’t come here for _that_. I just wanted to… check on you.” Kōki sighs and drops to his knees beside the aquarium. “I hate this place too, you know,” he admits. “Not as much as you do, I’m sure, but I still hate it.”

“I’ve lived half my life here,” Akashi says. Kōki remembers reading on his plaque that he was close to two hundred years old, and angrily rubs under his eyes when tears start building up. Akashi laughs at the sight. “Don’t lose even more water, Kōki. You humans are dry enough as it is.”

“Akashi-san—”

“And regardless, my home has long since been destroyed. I would have died if I’d stayed.” He watches in amusement as Kōki hides his face. “Even I haven’t cried for myself, Kōki.”

Kōki nods, and Akashi brushes away some of his tears with a thumb. Watching where they gleamed for a moment, he brings it to his mouth to taste. “This world isn’t fair,” Kōki complains, just about managing to hold back sobs.

“Ours isn’t the only universe in existence, Kōki. In one, you’re the one in captivity,” he says with a smile. “And in countless, we can be together.”

Kōki hiccups, eyes widening as Akashi approaches and kisses him. Kōki doesn’t know if the salty taste is him or the tears that are once again flowing uninhibited. He strokes Akashi’s hair as it slowly dries through his fingers and commits the feel of his skin—it really feels just like a human’s would—and definition of his muscles to memory.

“This is all we have,” he mumbles against Akashi’s mouth.

“I know,” he responds.

It wasn’t as if an inter-species relationship would ever be accepted, after all, even if they were at least as intelligent as humans.

-

-

**i would love you ten years before the flood**

**the fifth world**

Furihata Kōki still doesn’t know if he made a mistake or not.

His actual age and physical age match for now. He doesn’t quite miss his son enough for it to suffocate him, though it’s coming close to doing that. He looks outside the ship and sees the vastness of space and it both excites and scares him. Earth is still just about visible; a pinprick that he watches sometimes and feels that he is being pulled towards it as if its gravitational force is defying the laws of physics. There were two things that had changed his life for the better, the expeditions he’d made to space, and his son. There was something about being out of the world which made him feel infinite. It was that way for anyone; never was anything put into perspective as well as when the world could be blotted out with a thumb.

The receiver beeps twice and Kōki makes his way over to the screen, straps himself to the chair and answers. Seijūrō’s face slowly comes into focus and he smiles before saying, “Tetsuya won’t let me have tofu tonight, dad.”

“Where’s the honorific, Seijūrō?”

“Tetsuya-kun.” He pulls a face when Kōki laughs and shakes his head. “Tetsuya-san,” he adds in a mumbling voice.

“Better.”

“But the tofu.”

“I’m sure it’s for a good reason. And he won’t force you to eat meat no matter what Kagami says.”

He looks at Kōki with big eyes and a pout, and Kōki feels the pull. He’s suffocating, but forces a smile. “Let me see outside,” he asks.

“I’m not sure the camera is good enough to pick much out…” he lies, before winking. “We’re passing Saturn soon.”

Seijūrō gapes. “That’s more than 1.2 billion kilometres from earth.”

“Fast, isn’t it?” Kōki unhooks the camera from the top of the screen and points it out the window. It is beautiful; awe-inspiring, the rings shining like thousands of stars, the planet looking like a desert, bigger than the moon is in earth’s sky. He turns to watch Seijūrō’s face light up on the screen. Tears well up in his eyes at the ache, but can’t fall; he has to rub them furiously to get rid of the film in front of his eyes. A gravity simulator can be switched on for small periods every few days to keep up muscle strength, but not constantly.

“It’s really beautiful,” he said quietly. Kōki refits the camera once he’s controlled his emotions, and Seijūrō hugs his legs to his chest. “Can you really not come and take me home?”

He pouts slightly and red strands from his fringe are falling into his eyes. “Kuroko’s house will start feeling like home soon. You have your books and instruments, don’t you?”

Seijūrō looks over his shoulder, where the scuffed upright piano and violin stand against the wall. “I suppose,” he mumbles. “Four weeks is a long time to not see you.”

Kōki doesn’t answer for a moment before smiling. “How about tonight you call me again and I’ll read to you until you fall asleep?”

He was starting to become far too intelligent for distraction tactics to work, but after a loud sigh nods. “Your hair looks ridiculous,” he adds. Kōki pulls a face and tries to flatten his fringe, though it doesn’t work.

-

There is a limited choice; the ship was large, but personal belongings had to be kept to a minimum to have the space for enough food for five lifetimes per crew member and the oxygen generators. Kōki selects some poems that Seijūrō has always enjoyed and waits until he settles into bed, propping the tablet against the wall next to him. He mouths the words along with Kōki and falls asleep quickly. The lights start to dim as Kōki watches him sleep, until Kawahara pokes his head around the corner, clutching onto the metal bar that runs along the corridors and struggling to put his feet to the ground.

“You’re on maintenance,” he says. Kōki watches Seijūrō for one more breath before cutting off the call. “Was that your son?”

Kōki nods, untrusting of his voice.

-

He was on maintenance with Hyuga, who, though he got the job done, was never a pleasure to be near. From what Kōki could gather he decided to join the mission when he was rejected by the girl he loved his entire life. Kōki _did_ feel sympathy for him… some of the time. More often, he was tempted to cut off the umbilical cord and make a swift departure.

“Furihata, bring the torch to segment E,” he says, grumpily. Kōki holds back a sigh, thinking with fondness of the others in the team, who at least tried to remain cheerful as they could in their situation, and climbs to the other side of the ship. “Point the light here.” He points at a small scuff that Kōki would have passed over.

“It’s cosmetic,” Kōki complains quietly without pressing the intercom, but still directs the light towards it, grateful at least for the chance to rest and calm his heart. Claustrophobia, odd enough. The expanse before him is dark and as far as people could tell, infinite, but trapped in the suit as he is, it’s restrictive. It was like standing at the edge of a cliff, and he draws his hands back to clench them into fists to remind himself that he _does_ exist, and that if he detaches himself from the ship he will float eternally rather than dissipate into particles of star dust.

“Furihata.” Kōki jolts and looks at Hyuga. “Don’t look for too long.”

He has to take big, gulping breaths to stop himself from being lightheaded, but nods, holding firmly onto the side of the ship again.

-

It’s two years later, and Kōki has fixed the thrusters three times, been tempted to let himself float far from everything a dozen times, and talked to Seijūrō countless times. It’s been just over two weeks since they passed Pluto’s orbit, but their relationship remains as it has been. Kōki helps him with homework, lets him grumble about his situation in having to live with Kagami and still reads to him until he sleeps soundly. Seijūrō will play the violin and piano for him often, and started other pursuits, basketball being the one he spoke of most fondly (especially the captain of the team, Kōki notes with a hidden smile). Kuroko speaks candidly of his development; his ongoing friendly rivalry with Kagami, which only increased when he started basketball, his habit of sulking when he was beaten (being about a quarter Kagami’s size and a lot younger, it happens a lot), having to be coaxed out of his room with Kagami’s cooking.

He still feels the pull to earth, and watches the beam which is his sun, still visible, still bright, but nothing like from home. He can’t even tell himself that he and Seijūrō are looking at the same sky. He’s out of the _solar system_ , far out of reach, and before long even the sun would fade from view. He can only thank how technology has progressed, that it would be long after Seijūrō’s death that he would be out of reach to communicate with him. Seijūrō ages, is named a prodigy at basketball, and by the time he is sixteen he can sporadically beat Kagami at one-to-one games.

“I’m taller than you now,” he says at one point, as Kōki is half-asleep next to a UV light and Seijūrō is quietly doing some homework.

Kōki can’t help glowering a bit. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he answers pleasantly. “Three centimetres taller.” He leans closer to the camera, propping up his chin on his hand. “Annoyed?”

He’s achingly beautiful and Kōki wants to be able to reach out to pinch his cheek, stroke soft hair back from where his fringe is falling into his eyes. “I won’t let you see the nebula when we see it clearly unless you shrink by five centimetres,” he says. Seijūrō rolls his eyes.

“Nebula? Really?” He furrows his brow and closes his eyes. “How fast are you travelling?”

“At the moment just under the speed of light.”

He smiles at Seijūrō’s expression. “How is that even possible?”

“And once the thrusters are up to power, should be able to break past it for short moments.”

“Is that safe?”

“Should be.” Seijūrō doesn’t look convinced. “Do you remember when we were younger and you used to practice your English by watching Star Trek?” He waits until Seijūrō nods. “It’s similar to warp speed. Time and space bends around the craft once we break that barrier. In an instant, we’ll have travelled over a billion kilometres.”

“So you’re telling me that kind of technology has been developed, but nothing that allows you to come home?”

“Sei—”

“I know you’re not coming back. Even though you never said it outright. That’s why you haven’t aged; you’re on that medication that slows the deterioration. And that was why you were so ill those months before you left.” His eyes have hardened into gems and they pierce through Kōki.

“There’s a good chance I won’t. But, Sei, astronauts don’t get paid as much as they did two hundred years ago; I wouldn’t have been able to afford to give you the education you deserve. The government is supporting you completely in exchange for me being out here. You won’t ever have to worry about anything.”

“Except you,” he mumbles it so quietly that it takes a moment for Kōki to understand him. “I have to go.”

Kōki nods and his leg jumps in agitation. “I love you,” he says.

Seijūrō eyes him, almost in distrust, and Kōki’s heart is in his mouth. “I love you too,” he finally says. It sounds convincing and earnest enough.

The warning for the gravity simulator sounds just before Seijūrō hangs up. His eyes widen and he makes a choking sound when a shirt falls from where it had been floating onto Kōki’s head. “It’s okay, Seijūrō,” Kōki says, pulling the shirt off and throwing it somewhere behind him.

“Gravity simulator?” he asks, his voice a little shaky. He sighs when Kōki nods. “You shouldn’t leave everything lying about like that, dad. What would have happened if it was something heavy?”

“Would have hurt, I suppose.” Kōki shrugs and meets Seijūrō’s unamused expression with an amused one. “I wouldn’t leave something heavy unbolted, Sei.”

Seijūrō observes him carefully, his eye twitches once before casually commenting; “Your hair is still defying gravity.”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

-

He is restless for hours afterwards, struggling against the binds that keep him on the bed, plagued with dreams of Seijūrō growing older and angrier at him, until every call goes unanswered. Finally, after the tenth time waking in a cold sweat, he dreams well. A night a year before he left, a couple of months before he’d had the injection that slowed his aging. Seijūrō knocking lightly at the door and coming to stand next to Kōki’s bed, rubbing his eyes and hugging a plush tightly to his chest (called Neko-chan even though it was a dog; he’d never understood but let Seijūrō get on with it). He hadn’t done that in a couple of years, having decided that having a cuddly toy was much too immature.

“Are you not feeling well?” Kōki had asked. When Seijūrō shook his head, his lower lip sticking out in a pout, he’d shuffled back and let Seijūrō climb in beside him. His limbs were ice-cold but when he felt his forehead it was burning like a furnace. “You’ve got a fever…” Kōki had mumbled. When Seijūrō had hiccupped and hid his face in Kōki’s shoulder, it roused him enough to remember where he’d put the fever medicine and gather Seijūrō in his arms to bring him downstairs.

“I had a dream that you were in your ship and it broke apart and I couldn’t do anything.”

“Seijūrō—”

“And I was shouting at you but I was in space and you couldn’t hear—” he had choked out a sob. Kōki kissed his forehead and rocked him as he searched for the medicine.

“You don’t need to worry about anything.”

“Promise?” He’d taken the glass of water Kōki had handed him and grimaced at the taste of the medicine.

“I promise.”

He had fallen asleep soon after as Kōki still stood in the kitchen, the soft whirr of the fridge and Seijūrō’s slightly laboured breathing all he could hear. And even if it was necessary for future generations and part of his _duty_ , he regretted his choice to leave this.

-

Five years later, and the nebula is fully visible as they enter an arm of the milkyway, stretching to what Kōki can only imagine feels like infinity, though it’s far from that. The emptiness calls to him even more if he’s on repairs outside the ship, and earth still tugs at him whenever Seijūrō calls.

The frequency of calls have diminished, but Kōki suspects that is his own fault. Since Seijūrō found out that the money is going directly to him, he’s become more driven, graduating high school early and working almost constantly, already months shy from finishing his second degree.

“Are you sure you’re not working too hard?” Kōki asks when they’re talking one… evening, he supposes. The curtains are drawn in Seijūrō’s room. “I know you’ve always found physics difficult—”

“I certainly have _not_. Nothing is difficult. People merely do not know how to use their intellect.”

Kōki humours him, raising his hands. “I’m always here if you need help.” He beams when Seijūrō glowers, more to irritate him than anything. He’d always been prideful, and it only seemed to be increasing as he got older.

He idly wonders if he should worry about that, even if he _did_ have so much to be proud of.

-

Their first destination is reached not long after, and the blue and green planet makes Kōki’s throat constrict painfully. It’s an odd mixture of familiar and entirely new; the shapes nothing like earth, but the colours exactly the same. He watches as they approach in the escape pod and the planet, almost exactly the same size as earth, looms in front of them. The ship is orbiting just outside of the atmosphere above them with a small crew, whilst Kawahara, Hyuga and Kōki circle in the pod to find a good space to land.

“Ready, Furi?” Kawahara says. He smiles affectionately when Kōki slaps his forehead and cheeks.

“Run through the protocol again.”

“Check the air composition and soil. Bring back samples of what we find, but nothing big. If we encounter life…” Kōki gives him a sardonic look and he winks. “See if there are any hot alien chicks.”

The tension lightens as Kōki laughs. “I wish you luck on that endeavour,” he quips, saluting.

“Maybe you can send one back for your son. It would make an interesting conversation starter.” _That_ earns Kawahara a slap around his head before Kōki does up the suit and pushes his hair back behind his ears—it’s getting too long and he makes a mental note to cut it later.

“I don’t think a hot alien ‘ _chick_ ’ would interest him anyway.”

Kawahara frowns and nods. “Right, let’s hope that this one is a planet we can use.”

Kōki hopes it is too, so much that he’s clenching his fists and closing his eyes tightly. If this was a strong enough contender, he could be home in less than twenty years.

“Buckle up, both of you,” Hyuga snaps. Kawahara rolls his eyes at Kōki but obeys. “Right, as you should know, this planet is called M-332K—”

“Just call it Arcadia, Hyuga; it sounds more like a potential home like that.” He glares at Kōki for a moment before sighing.

“I’m just not trying to get your hopes up too much.”

“Fine; they’re at rock bottom.”

He doesn’t seem convinced (Kōki isn’t either) but continues. “Initial analyses and observations show that there is a slightly higher oxygen concentration than earth, and less nitrogen. Carbon dioxide is a lot lower, as you can imagine.”

“Nothing living apart from the plants?” Kawahara says. Kōki cranes his neck to look out of the window. The planet is almost covered from the expanse he can see; the plants stretch almost to the edge of the ocean.

“Not that we’ve seen, but be on your guard.”

“With a higher oxygen concentration the bugs will be a lot larger,” Kōki says absentmindedly.

“ _What_?” Kawahara squeaks.

“He’s kidding.”

Kōki eyes Hyuga curiously and he glares back. “Yeah, I was kidding.”

Kawahara’s breathing slows. “Okay. Don’t do that again.”

Smiling at the incongruity—this was the man who would sing (awfully) when doing repairs outside the ship and hang above the expanse with one hand anchoring him—Kōki settles back and waits for the landing.

This planet’s star, about a billion years younger than earth’s feels just as warm and rejuvenating through the window. Two of the three moons are risen and Kōki tracks their progression across the sky. He’d forgotten just how much it calmed him, reminding him of the nights he used to lie outside with Seijūrō pointing where he’d been in the sky and teaching him the constellations. When he was younger he’d always been in such awe of Kōki.

Kōki rubs his eyes angrily and turns away from the others, until the pilot says that they would be landing in an approaching clearing. The pod jolts as they descend.

“Put your suits on properly. Helmets too; we don’t want to risk anyone.”

“Aye, captain,” Kōki says, deadpanning when Hyuga sighs. Kawahara nervously looks about the pod.

They land, Kōki and Kawahara leave the pod. Grass, a deeper colour than on earth, stretches in front of them. The trees are taller than on earth, almost double the size. Although he can’t feel the breeze through the suit, it dances through leaves. One drops off a tree and Kōki bends to pick it up. It’s thicker and larger than to what he’s habituated, the veins a deep purple.

“I can see this working,” Kawahara says. He’s talking in a hushed voice and walking close to Kōki.

“Y-yeah.”

They’re the first people to step foot on this planet, and it shows. Everything sings in perfect harmony; the entire planet is like a finely tuned orchestra.

“I want this country to be called Kawaharaland.”

The spell is half-broken, and Kōki freezes to shake his head. “That sounds like a theme park.”

“Well, why not? I’m one hell of a ride.”

“ _What are you two talking about_?” Hyuga’s angry growl reaches them and they both jump.

“Samples,” Kōki says. Kawahara nods as he smirks, and Kōki hides a smile before taking the beakers from his pockets.

-

He’s a perfect mixture of exhausted and happy that night. Too tired to climb into bed, he opts instead to lie in the middle of the floor of the pod, until his tablet peals a ring. _Seijūrō_ , he thinks desperately, the strength to jump up and sit on his chair suddenly surging through him. He answers, happiness bubbling up when Seijūrō’s face slowly comes into focus.

“You’re at Kuroko’s?” he asks at the sight of the familiar fridge, still dotted with some pictures Seijūrō had drawn when he had been a child.

He nods. “They went to take the dog for a walk. I just wanted to talk to you before I talk to them.”

“Oh?”

“I met someone.” He says it in a rush, biting his lip and looking away when Kōki’s face breaks into a smile.

“Really? Who are they? Have you mentioned them before?”

He frowns and eyes Kōki. “I… sort of.” Kōki delights at the light blush over his cheeks, even though it clashes badly with his hair and eyes. “My old basketball captain,” he finally says swiftly.

“I thought you had a crush on him.”

His blush deepens. “You knew?”

He seems mortified, and Kōki rolls his eyes. “Of course I did. I’m your father.”

“Right,” he says, looking a bit dazed.

“So can I meet him?” Seijūrō just stares at him. “Or will I have to wait fifteen years to be back home?”

It takes a second, but a blinding smile breaks out. Kōki, if he’s honest, can’t remember much of it, but he’s sure that was what it felt like to him when the sun finally broke out from behind dark clouds. “Really? You’re coming home?”

Kōki nods and Seijūrō covers his face for a moment. His shoulders are trembling. “Do you want to see outside?”

It wasn’t as if humans would move in in his lifetime; this would be for his children and grandchildren, but he nods.

Weight upon weight lifts from Kōki’s shoulders and chest as he takes the tablet and camera. He leaves his feet bare as he goes outside, breathes in air that is like Earth’s, only cleaner and fresher and digs his feet in the bristled grass beneath him.

-

-

**my vegetable love should grow vaster than empires**

**the sixth world**

Having a lover within the battalion was recommended.

It had been a philosopher’s idea years ago, that by having such a connection with someone else, one soldier would be more willing to die for his comrades, and more inclined to remain no matter how dangerous the road became.

But the thought that the general of the largest, most powerful battalion in the country had a lover who was nothing more than the lowliest of foot soldiers was shocking to everyone.

-

Kōki is still accustomed to hiding.

It’s not necessary now; since Kuroko convinced Akashi of informing people of their relationship everyone _knows_ where he goes at night, though not many agree that it’s a good idea. Kawahara, who had known for a few weeks now, still glares at him with an expression that shows how betrayed he feels about the situation. And though Kōki wants to tell him that it’s unjust, he _knows_ it isn’t. It was a few months now since Kawahara propositioned him, and he fended off those advances, explaining that he just wasn’t _attracted_ to men.

Which he still holds by; Akashi is an exception to the rule in Kōki’s interests, just like he’s an exception to every rule.

He enters the commander’s tent, and though surprised to see the object of his affections using his crossed arms as a pillow as he sleeps at the desk, keeps quiet as he covers the opening to the tent. There was something about Akashi when he first awoke; his usual hard demeanour was replaced by something softer which betrayed his young age.

He kneels beside Akashi and tugs his hair gently to wake him. There is resistance for a short while; he shakes his head to dislodge Kōki’s hand from the red strands and grumbles something under his breath before wincing and rubbing the nape of his neck.

“You shouldn’t sleep here, Akashi-san,” Kōki berates.

His eyes hold all the opulence of rubies and Kōki sighs, pulling his arm firmly. The first thing he learnt about judging Akashi’s moods were his eyes—both red meant he was relaxed, one red, one gold and even Kōki could be in danger if he pushed too much. Confusing, but abiding to that rule probably kept his life safe more than once.

Akashi follows Kōki to the blankets that serve as a bed obediently. Too obediently, even for the milder of his personalities. He looks over his shoulder inquisitively, sees the flash of gold before Akashi kisses him insistently.

-

Kōki stands over the battlefield with his conscience a thick weight over his head. More than three quarters of the battalion is dead and the sand has been stained a dark crimson. When he looks at Seijūrō, he’s still holding onto the wound on his shoulder.

“I can’t guarantee your safety, Kōki,” he says. “I can’t guarantee the safety of either of us.”

He struggles up and Kōki supports him, kisses the corner of his mouth. An apology and forgiveness at the same time. “I wasn’t going to leave you.”

Not that anyone in charge would see it like that. They would see that Akashi _would_ have been able to fight and struggle on to his final moments as he’d wanted, not understanding that the reason Kōki stayed was to protect him. They’d be executed as cowards.

“You should have.”

He said it as if it was _possible_. As if Kōki could have just ran past his unconscious body and not felt the despair and fear when his life was hanging on by a spider’s thread. All it would have taken was the errant hooves of a horse or the swordfall of enemy or friend, and his attachment to the world would be severed.

“We’ll have to say goodbye now,” he says, pressing his forehead against Kōki’s as he closes his eyes.

“Goodbye?” Kōki asks in confusion. Even now, he can’t fathom what is happening in Akashi’s mind. The wound has been cleaned and cauterised, neither of them are in danger of dying of hunger or thirst, even if they _were_ to be executed it’s still months away from happening. “What are you talking about, Akashi-san? We have time.”

Akashi shakes his head. “Kōki, listen to me,” he says seriously. “You’re going to leave and save yourself. Find somewhere far from here and make a living. _Live_. I’ll go back and admit my wrongdoings and make sure they can never link us together.”

Kōki is shaking his head before he finishes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not running away. At least…” he toys with the idea in his mind and scans the battlefield. The survivors have long left, back to the camp to send out messengers and treat wounds. Their only witnesses are the dead. “At least, not unless you come with me.”

Akashi’s eyes are dichromatic, and Kōki watches him earnestly. It’s easier with this one; he’s marginally less honourable and more likely to sway to the path of temptation. “We can live together,” he continues, touching Akashi’s cheek before kissing him.

“A relationship like ours isn’t accepted outside the army, Kōki.”

“Then we’ll pass as brothers. I don’t mind as long as I’m with you.”

Akashi laces his fingers through Kōki’s, still uncertain. “It’s… cowardly.”

“It isn’t. After all that you’ve done for this country, there’s still a chance that you could be executed for protecting yourself? This _country_ is the cowardly one. We have a chance. Leave evidence that we both died and _leave_. Find a small house somewhere far off and live together.”

Akashi smiles. “If we’re found out we’ll definitely be executed.”

Kōki kisses him again, almost giddy with excitement. “We would,” he agrees. “So let’s not let them.”

-

-

**the first world**

Kōki doesn’t expect Seijūrō to be there when he opens the door.

It was natural; after five years going past he just didn’t think he’d ever see his first love again. He’s started to move on at that point, forget to think of Seijūrō every time he saw magenta or cooked tofu. Now any softened feelings he had towards Seijūrō was reserved for when he heard the lapping of waves against a shore, the lilting dance of a violin and cherry blossom trees which formed a tunnel of pink around him. He still kept all the photos and messages in his phone, and vowed to until he fell for someone else. Until then, he could sink into his memories whenever he wanted, feel the constriction and ache in his chest and see the symphony of emotions as a final gift from Seijūrō. It made him feel alive, in a masochistic way.

He freezes when he sees Seijūrō. He’s a couple of centimetres taller, still wearing clothes much too expensive for a man of his age, but almost rough round the edges. More human and flawed.

“I made a mistake,” is all he says before slowly stepping towards Kōki.

“Sei—”

“And I need to make it right,” he says once Kōki’s hands are gathered in his and he’s pressed a kiss to each.

“What if I told you I had someone else?”

“You’d be making a mistake,” he answers bluntly.

He’s telling the truth. Kōki feels a pull towards Seijūrō as incessant as gravity and feels like he could find him across the universe. His hand cups Seijūrō’s cheek as he draws closer.

“If you’re sure,” he murmurs.


End file.
